Inkbound

My heart’s first flutter, a tender crush,
Was for the pen, that gentle rush.
It wrote my dreams, and whispered low,
Of a love that grew, as words began to flow.

The pen became my lover, my constant friend,
Together we’d dance, till stories would end.
It held my hand, through joy and through strife,
And brought my thoughts, to vibrant, pulsing life.

When the world walks away, my pen stays near,
A loyal companion, dispelling every fear.
When others speak with scorn, my pen writes with grace,
Transforming negativity into a positive space.

When sorrow falls, she pens a melancholy line,
Grieving with me, in harmony of heart and mind.
When joy overflows, she composes a happy refrain,
Celebrating with me, in perfect symphony and strain.

Though I may tire of classic ink,
And flirt with stylish pens that blink,
Deep within, I know your value stays,
Equally precious, in simple or stylish ways.

There are many instruments that craft joy on their own,
Wonderful tools that shape the creative zone.
But you, dear pen, are the perfect fit for my hand,
Together we create, in a world so grand.

My awkward fingers grasped you tight,
Unrefined scribbles, a chaotic sight.
Yet, in my left-handed, imperfect hold,
You poured forth beauty, young and old.

Now, as I look, to the future’s gate,
I see the pen, as my lifelong mate.
Together we’ll craft, a love that’s strong and free,
A bond between us, for all eternity.